The Demon's Quandary
by MidnightBebe104
Summary: A demon feels strangely mesmerized by a certain human who holds an unnerving resemblance to a former lover. Things become stranger when that specific being begins releasing scattered images relating to both him and his past. AU GrimmIchi Yaoi


QUICK NOTE: Changed previous summary simply because it was a mere placeholder until I found the proper words to sum this story up, though I doubt i've yet to fully sum it up. *sigh*

I am not the owner of Bleach or its characters. No copyright infringement intended.

These definitions are relating to THIS story. The real definition varies slightly.

Beta: DaisukeUchiha

Terms:

Incubus: _A demon or evil spirit in male form who seduces and engages in sexual intercourse with females/males. This encounter greatly diminishes the victims health as their soul is being stolen and eventually leads to their death._

Succubus: _A demon or evil spirit in female form who seduces and engages in sexual intercourse with males. This encounter greatly diminishes the victims health as their soul is being stolen and eventually leads to their death. _

* * *

**The demon's quandary**

Chapter 1

"Ichigo Kurosaki," the incubus said silently, the words spoken with evident curiosity, and an even clearer dosage of fiery desire.

Bringing his thumb at lips bay, he allowed the appendage to loosely grace the outskirts of his bottom lip, lengthy fingernails like claws scratching at its surface. Cerulean eyes surveyed with utmost intrigue the human male demonstrated before him. Rich russet colored locks sat atop a face much too delicate to be part of a man's body, though his body itself seemed to lack the usual masculinity of one. The face, lacking the slightest of tarnish, unevenness, or stumble, fell into a smooth and un-jagged jaw. Full coral lips, undeniably tempting, were perched perfectly atop the wonderfully contoured canvas. But the eyes, it was perhaps that which attracted him most of all to this fine specimen. The richness in those magnificent amber orbs called to him. Their beauty unbelievably familiar, yet somehow unique, but most of all, utterly confusing.

This was the umpteenth time the incubus had sat in silent adoration of the male. Though his natural instinct coaxed him to head forth and devour said particular individual, the better part of his brain felt otherwise, the reason unbeknownst to even him. But something, strange in its own right, kept the demon at bay. It planked him to his seat and seemed to demand that his attention be kept on the peculiar male. And so he merely sat, sat and examined. Sat and observed. Sat and remained fully captivated on something so foreign yet so seemingly familiar.

His duties, much to his disinterest, had been willfully avoided, the least of his concern being on the many souls awaiting his marvelous seduction. For his interest lay solely on one thing and he knew that no female would be sufficient in provoking his interests or quenching his sudden unrestrained thirst for this new being. This new being, a man, so entirely out of his or many other similar incubi's interest, had managed to drill himself inside his brain.

How this individual could somehow spark his curiosity to such an extent was beyond him. And even so, it only made his hunger stir even more.

Feeling his legs begin to crave for some much needed physical activity, as his day had been spent solely latched on an image while coasting back; the demon clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth before slowly rising from his perched spot and feeling his joints rejoice.

The incubus stood tall, back perfectly aligned with the rest of his body with a certain ethereal poise. His lengthy blue tresses fell limply atop bulky shoulders. His chest lay exposed, showcasing the various ripples and edgings that made for his very muscular abdomen, the skin holding a sun-kissed gleam. A strategically placed armor-like garment with a design similar to that of amphibian scales, used as cover for his groin area and providing for a small opening from which the demon's tail fell free. The garment latched at opposite ends with a golden pin and was barely enough to cloak the private area. His toned, muscled thighs and calfs lay perfectly bare. The bottom ankle marking the beginning of a similarly scaled design of a deep emerald hue with various cobalt blues shining through the glossy surface and leading onto relatively edged two-pronged claws that stood for each of his feet.

Beginning to slowly circle his body towards his designated exit, the male came to a sudden halt at the sound of heavily approaching footsteps. The sound instantly caused his far-stretching webbed bat-like wings, the color of pure coal, to flare behind him in a seemingly angry joust.

"How long do you plan on merely observing this here human?" A meager voice questioned coolly, its source perfectly concealed behind velvet tapestries that separated the incubus in his own private quarters. Even so, its owner was instantly recognized by the towering demon that at such inquiry put an end to his inner musings.

Grimmjow having already brought his stance to an abrupt halt stood solidly. Form stoically poised as he glanced towards the source of the voice.

"Szayel," he began icily, his voice deep, rough and retaining a prevalent beastly quality. The sound prompted the other presence to take several steps out of their concealed location.

Grimmjow allowed his neck to continue to effortlessly swivel to meet the common form. His eyes, stained black sclera, like murky pools of tar enclosing teal irises, fell upon the man whose own orbs seemed fully stained in gold.

Skin, iridescently pale, fragility being its utmost connotation -though the truth could be farther off- enclosed taut and well formed muscles easily showcased by the lack of much garment currently possessed by said individual. A scant amount of leather-like fabric was used as covering the individual's private area, working as a semi-loincloth, though further observation would note any subtle movement would allow for full-casted view. Similarly webbed wings stood roused as Grimmjow's own, their length and width barely matching that of the bluenette as they fell painfully short.

Szayel dared a miniscule grin to graze his previously creased lips as his hands leisurely flicked his deep fuchsia colored tresses from his shoulders.

"I seem to have forgotten how much of this is any of your business." Grimmjow said firmly and with a fluid motion of his arm the image that had inhabited his fortress only seconds earlier quickly diminished in what seemed like a vanishing stream of dust driven away by a gusty wind.

"I am genuinely interested," Szayel said in amusement. "Our best collector has been relatively slow these past few days. Would it have anything to do with this guy?"

Stretching off his limbs Grimmjow leisurely waltzed past the new annoyance, paying not even a side glance. His towering form plodded past the still-grinning incubus, his wings making sure to provide a menacing flap behind him, the action forcing the pink-haired demon to take a mindful step back.

"Why not worry about your own ineptitudes? I hear you have little luck with your absorbencies, though it comes as no surprise." Grimmjow retorted with utmost simplicity as he continued his exit.

Grimmjow paused momentarily as he could feel Szayel's energy rouse drastically from its prior state. The grim surge of malicious energy swarmed around him unrestrainedly, a sudden cloud of pure obsidian detailing its presence.

The incubus snorted audibly, his lips parting open and fully showcasing their edged animalistic sharpness in a feral and terrifying grin.

"Just as I thought." Grimmjow voiced while allowing his eyes to come in contact with the golden orbs one final time. The chagrin and confusion at the lack of effect his sudden flare up had had on him was visible in the narrowed eyes, this threatening to make Grimmjow burst out in a rogue fit of laughter. "Someone like you should think twice before butting into others' business."

And with that, he concluded his exit, flinging the crimson flannel that separated his quarters from the rest of the chamber and stepping inside while leaving the seething pink-headed demon behind.

* * *

"Are you alright sweetie?"

Ichigo's eyes, burning with the intense desire to drift shut flitted open at the sound of his mother's voice. The sound startled him out of his daze all the while causing his body to flinch visibly, something he quickly tried to cover up as he ordered his muscles back to relaxation.

"Ichigo?"

"Yeah," he answered quickly, his voice cracking alongside his response.

He cursed himself upon feeling the warmth of another hand tightly enclose his own and dared a glance at the tender hazelnut eyes staring back at him. Their worry clearly planted and causing his gut to swarm in guilt.

His hand quickly detached itself.

"I'm fine ma," he tried to assure her while providing a feeble grin that barely showcased any of his teeth and standing from his seat in a haste. The last thing he wanted was to have the female worrying over his nonsensical condition. The guilt it brought him to watch his mother's constant brooding over his situation was enough to rot him to the core.

The woman, whose light brown hair hung loosely about her face, made to stand beside the younger male but was stopped by a hand spread out in front of her with the clear purpose of keeping her at bay.

"Please," Ichigo turned to her, taking into full account the visible darkening surrounding the once luminous brown eyes that lacked in their usual gleam and seemed as lackluster as century old metal.

Her face seemed to have aged considerably in the past five years and now gave off the appearance of a woman far beyond her years. The growing worry lines stretching past her now constantly lined lips like branches, accompanied by the creases that had now found solid refuge on her delicate face.

Ichigo sighed softly and tried to provide for an honest smile. "I'm fin―"

"Ichigo Kurosaki. Dr. Urahara will see you now," the voice quickly intruded his approaching statement, but he found himself grateful for the intrusion.

He provided one final weary glance at his mother whose frown remained displayed, and whose sight he could not bear, before beginning to slowly saunter over towards the door now fully ajar and awaiting his entry.

* * *

The smell of antiseptic clogged his nostrils with overbearing incense.

Ichigo clenched his hands onto his seat's leathered armrests, his legs twitching to tap with the approaching nerves that came with sitting inside the small space and speaking of the much too undesirable topic.

"So, Ichigo," the man behind a clipboard and shabby spectacles whose mere presence seemed to be to serve as an indicator of Ichigo's own insanity, began leisurely, his words painstakingly slow and carefully planned. "How have you been feeling lately?"

Ichigo's eyes remained casted on a single tile on the small office's flooring, the triangular design in between holding much of his attention. The scant amount that was left was given to the inquiring man before him.

If Ichigo's twitchy composure and glazed unfocused gaze could be held as any indication of how exactly he had been feeling lately, then his answer should have been plain as all. Though he doubted the man to have not already known.

Ichigo, however, felt the need to humor him.

"I've been fine." he said, his eyes still detached from his examiner.

The sound of pen scratching onto paper followed his response.

"Your sleep," the man began, flipping a page of the stapled papers at hand. "How has it been recently?"

Ichigo felt himself sink deeper into his seat as though attempting to meld with the leather fabric.

"It's been," he hesitated slightly, biting the inside of his gums before continuing. "...better." he lied.

The red-head scrunched his toes until the pressure was causing him physical pain as his eyes once more began to crave for the retreat they'd been seriously deprived of.

He blinked harshly, forcing his vision to focus once more.

His sleep was difficult in attaining, any proper sleep, anyway. Most of his nights were spent lying awake disquieted by the wakefulness, yet dreading the biting exhaustion for fear of what exactly he knew it would bring about if it succeeded in its task.

"Any interesting dreams lately?" the man probed, the sound of his pen scribbling onto a paper that Ichigo knew was dissecting every word and movement of his, reaching the male's ears in tune with the words.

He squirmed in his seat with little desire to hide his discomfort and particularly no real reason to as he along with the other individual in the room both knew very well how distressing that question was.

"Not…particularly." he said, unconsciously clamping his hands tighter on the armrests serving as support.

Once more his lips felt the undying need to utter a lie.

He refused to continue to be thought of as such a handicap to those around him. He'd made up his mind quite some time ago. He'd had enough of the useless therapy sessions and debilitating medications that did nothing more than suck his family's wallet dry like a vacuum while providing little result.

He refused to continue being such a burden to them, both financially and emotionally.

His nightly fits of terror were beginning to wear out on all of them. The anxiety it brought him constantly, as well. The fear and confusion tested his brain daily now, assessing his sanity or rather what was left of it. Because the nightmares, they continued. And the images, they failed to wash away.

For the past five years things have been like this and for the past five years he has had to debate whether his mind had finally lost control. It might as well have, he resolved to leave it as such. His parent's, he knew, already thought their precious son was deranged even if they did well to hide it. And for the most part, so did he.

"That's good," the blonde therapist said approvingly, clearly pleased by the phony response. "We're having progress aren't we?"

Ichigo feigned a gladdened smile and nodded his head weakly, feeling slightly astonished that his lie had gone so easily undetected though he didn't bask too much in it. So long as they decided to finally remove him from the pills, that was all he truly cared about, and all he really hoped for.

* * *

Ichigo stared at his bedside clock.

2: 45 a.m.

With each passing minute his fortitude began to easily crumble down to dust.

How his eyes craved for the rich envelopment of sleep. They felt like weighted tons of bricks, pushing down relentlessly in hopes of acquiring the much desired shut-eye Ichigo refused to provide.

He'd surely be defeated soon, that he knew for sure, but any attempt at prolonging the occurrence would be taken by him in full.

He refused to take his medication tonight. He wouldn't. No. For it did nothing but expedite his sleep, which was the last thing he wanted. His doctors ruled his case as one of insomnia. Insomnia and Anxiety. Oh, and insanity, though they never quite voiced that one out. But you see, Insomnia and Anxiety failed to explain the dreams that continued to haunt him daily. But insanity did. Quite thoroughly actually. And so he formed his own diagnosis. The one he knew other's had formed quite some time ago but refused to let known.

Ichigo rolled to his side, drawing his arm over his face as he did while the other tugged at the neck of his white crew-neck.

Horror movies made it look so easy to stay awake, though of course seeing as how a maniac homicidal freak was usually chasing after you in hopes of tearing you limb from limb; it'd be hard not to see why. And that at least worked to provide some comfort, as slight as it may have been. Because these were merely dreams, not reality, dreams.

Not reality. Dreams.

And these words had become a sort of mantra for him. Daily spoken, and as worthless as a pile of steaming cow dung, though in reality cow dung served much more purpose. And though it was, he latched onto it, because truthfully, he had nothing more to hold onto. Either try to find comfort in the comfortless or sink into the pits of insanity.

Slowly, his eyes began to drift shut. His breathing leveled, and his heart eased in pace as sleep finally enveloped him in its warm embrace, in this case it was more of a frigid and unwelcoming clutch.

_Just…dreams…_

* * *

Grimmjow smirked cunningly a sharp-edged claw tapping at his cheek with utmost ease, while he hummed an idle tune of single notes.

His eyes skimmed the sleeping form showcased before him, the image appearing on a mist-like screen that seemed to wither at its edges.

"Let's see what makes you so special…"

* * *

AN: God sketching this story was a pain in the ass. However, thanks to the marvelous help of a very great person it was done succesfully.^^ I am hoping this story will revive my lost interest in writing. BTW Grimmjow is a century old demon, so yeah his speech will not be as um...colorful as usual?

Thank you for reading


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